


it would be the first time

by annundriel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s mesmerizing, really, the way the Bull looks at him.  Like he holds the world in the palm of his hand, like he <i>is</i> the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it would be the first time

As much as he enjoys the sex—and, oh, he enjoys it—Dorian thinks he may like the part before even more. So often sex had been about gratification, about getting self and partner off as quickly as possible, illicit rendezvous and hurried kisses. Hands and mouths touching, but never connecting. Never more than bodies looking for release, and Dorian left aching for something he couldn’t define.

But the Bull was different. The Bull looked and saw, touched Dorian like he knew him, like he _wanted_ to know him. And Dorian had wanted to give the same in return, something rising within him, aching for more of this. More of the looks and the touches, the wise cracks and the teasing, the—Maker preserve him—puns.

Now here they are, well on their way to perfecting the long, slow kiss, the kind that makes Dorian feel consumed from within, magic sparking at his fingertips as their mouths vie for dominance, lips and teeth and tongue clinging, persistent. The Bull’s hands slide from Dorian’s neck to his shoulders, down his back to settle at his hips, his ass. Dorian groans as the Bull gropes it, mouth falling open against the Bull’s, and hitches his hips closer where he sits astride the Bull’s lap.

The head of his cock nudges against the Bull, smearing precome against his belly. With a shiver and a sigh, the Bull pulls back. His eye is dark and hot, and his hand grips Dorian’s ass firmly.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he says, voice rough, mouth as close to kiss-bruised as Dorian’s been able to get it.

Rolling his hips, Dorian grins. “You like that, do you?”

The hands on his ass tighten, and the Bull leans up to take his mouth again. “I do,” he says with a nip. “Want you to come all over me.”

Dorian’s heart thumps in his chest, a strange mix of emotions sweeping through him. It’s not something he understands the appeal of, coming across someone’s skin. He gets nothing—other than the orgasm—out of the act if he’s giving and nothing at all—save come in his moustache and an uncomfortable tightness in his chest—if he’s receiving. The appeal is lost on him. But it doesn’t repulse him, and if it’s something the Bull wants…

They’re learning this relationship thing together, sometimes clumsily. Dorian’s happy to do it, and he’s happy to do this.

Though he is grateful Bull hasn’t asked to come on him.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, pushing himself up from his half-lounge against the Bull’s chest until he’s kneeling astride him. The Bull’s hands slide a little, fingers slipping between Dorian’s cheeks. He shudders and ignores them, reaches for his own cock. “Is that what you’d like, Bull? My come all over your face—” a stroke “—your chest—” another “your cock?”

The Bull’s hands spasm, a pectoral jumping, and his eyelid flutters. “You sure know how to treat a guy.”

Dorian laughs, wraps his free hand around the Bull. He does, it’s true. He is very good at this. He wants to be better—no, he wants to be better _with Bull_. The fact that he has the opportunity is both exhilarating and terrifying. “I know a thing or two.”

The Bull thrusts into his hand, gentle, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah, you do,” he says, and the sound of it shoots through Dorian like lightning, sharp and bright.

He strokes them in tandem, hands working, fingers tight, but then the Bull’s hand is there covering his own, engulfing it. One day, Dorian will tell the Bull that it was his hands that first got him, above anything else. It was Bull’s hands, casually patting him on the shoulder, helping him up a hill, pressing bandages to his own wounds and assisting with others. Large and warm and surprisingly gentle, it was the Bull’s hands Dorian first closed his eyes and thought about, Bull’s hands he imagined instead of his own. One day he will tell him, and the Bull will smirk and stretch his fingers, probably say something like, _What, these old things? Yeah, they are pretty great,_ and Dorian will be too far gone to do anything but agree.

Now, though, he tilts his head and looks from their stilled hands to the Bull’s face. “Something the matter?”

The Bull’s fingers flex over his. “Not there,” he says. “Not like that.”

“Then where?” Dorian asks. “How else do you want me to—”

“My face. Sit on my face. Let me fuck you with my tongue. Come all over me.”

_Andraste’s—_ Dorian swallows hard, caught by the tone in the Bull’s voice, the look in his eye. It’s mesmerizing, really, the way the Bull looks at him. Like he holds the world in the palm of his hand, like he _is_ the world. And that should frighten him, it should. Dorian should lay awake at night wondering what it means instead of pondering whether he’d sleep better in the Bull’s drafty room. But he knows, he _knows_ what it means, what the answering feeling rising within him means. He’s been waiting for it for years.

A beat, two. The Bull’s fingers stroke over the head of Dorian’s cock. “That work for you?”

Dorian blinks, and swallows, blinks again. “Yes,” he says. He clears his throat. “Yes, that works.”

Later, he won’t be entirely sure how they manage it. In the process of positioning, most of the pillows end up on the floor, save for the one the Bull had appropriated as he’d scooted down the bed. “For my head,” he’d said. “And the horns.”

Dorian had nodded, watching him, and felt strangely light, jittery. And then the Bull had settled and reached for him.

Somehow here he is astride the Bull in a position that gives Dorian a view of everything; broad chest and hard nipples, curving belly and erect cock. Powerful thighs. The Bull breathes beneath him, breath tickling the inside of his own trembling thighs. He’s never done this before, not like this. Partners have rimmed him, bent him over chairs and tables, desks and chaise lounges, the ends of beds and, once, a barrel. He’s given himself. But not like this.

The Bull has rimmed him before, pushed him over and spread his cheeks with those enormous hands, lapped and circled and licked at his hole until Dorian was wet, his cock leaking, and he was begging for more. He wonders if this will be the same, if it will be better. If it will be—

The Bull’s hands find his hips, tugging gently. His voice when he speaks is equally so. “You’re going to have to get closer, kadan. I’m not that talented.”

Dorian flushes, cursing silently at the embarrassment—random and unnecessary—that flares within him. “Aren’t you?” he asks, instead, though his voice wavers slightly as he lets the Bull move and position him. “Are you telling me the Iron Bull’s talents have been exagger—hey!”

The Bull’s teeth against his thigh are sharp; the pain of them zings through Dorian, leaving him tingling. The breath that follows is hot and maddening, and Dorian _aches_.

“They haven’t been exaggerated,” the Bull says. “I’ll show you.” And then he’s pulling Dorian’s hips closer and Dorian is—he’s—

_Sweet Maker_.

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t—it wasn’t this. To sit astride the Bull’s face, feel his breath on Dorian’s damp skin, his fingers folding tight. To watch the muscles in his thighs tremble and his cock curve, hard and flushed with blood, as he runs the flat of his tongue from the tender skin behind Dorian’s balls to his entrance once, twice, three times before he focuses his attention _right there_.

Right there, right where Dorian wants it the most. He gasps, catching himself from falling forward with a hand on the Bull’s hip. He could reach for the Bull now, wrap his hand around his cock, shift his weight and fit his mouth around the head. The Bull hadn’t said not to, after all, but when Dorian shifts his hand, the Bull pulls away.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, and his voice sounds rough, thick. With each word, his lips brush Dorian’s skin, and Dorian shivers, sweat beginning to collect at his temples, the small of his back, the crease of his knees.

“Oh?” He straightens. “You don’t want—”

“Later,” the Bull says, “after.” And then he’s tugging again at Dorian’s hips. This time, he does not tease. The tip of his tongue finds Dorian without prelude, pressing up and in, and Dorian knows he’s groaning like he’s never been touched like this before, but maybe that’s true. Maybe he hasn’t. His partners before Bull wanted pleasure. They used and were used, and that was fine, that was great at the time. Now the Bull holds him steady, fucks him with his tongue, and Dorian can hardly breathe. The Bull wants this, wants _him_ , feels pleasure when Dorian does. Gains pleasure when—

“Oh, _Bull_ ,” he sighs, wrapping his hand around his own cock. Beneath him, the Bull moans, and the sound rumbles through Dorian, building and building inside of him until he’s moaning, too, until he’s moaning and his fingers are tightening and he’s coming across the Bull’s skin, stripping his chest and his belly, his cock, with come.

Fuck, but the Bull looks good, amazing. _His_. And, _Oh_ Dorian thinks, _oh, I see, I see_.

The Bull’s tongue retreats, and the Bull is saying something, murmuring praise into Dorian’s thighs. Words like _good_ and _yes_ and _fuck, Dorian, that was hot_. Dorian cares, of course he does, but all he wants is to taste; himself, the Bull, the two of them together.

He tips forward again, hand returned to the Bull’s hip for balance. Ignoring the Bull’s surprise, he presses his face to the rounded curve of the Bull’s belly, nuzzles the skin there covered in sweat and come. Opens his mouth and tastes salt. Breathes and smells sex, smells _them_ , feels overwhelmed and shaken and more sure of this than anything in his entire life other than the magic he feels crackling beneath his skin.

His thighs are beginning to burn, but Dorian doesn’t care. He tastes himself on Bull’s skin, laps it up with greedy tongue. Wrapping a hand around the base of the Bull’s cock to hold him still, Dorian tilts his head and tastes himself there as well. Groans and swallows the Bull down to the steady sound of his panted name.

It doesn’t take long. The Bull comes with a hitch of hips and breath, an incoherent shout that makes Dorian flush with pleasure. If this is what the Bull’s desires bring him, let the Bull ask for what he will. Dorian trusts him.


End file.
